Lionhearted
by hyenagal
Summary: Dave doesn't feel at home in his own skin.


**Title:** Lionhearted  
**Author:** hyena_gal  
**Fandom:** Glee  
**Summary:** _Dave doesn't feel at home in his own skin._  
**Rating:** T  
**Word Count:** 1630  
**Warning:** Homophobic slurs, the f word, bullying.  
**A/N:** Set sometime before 2.06 "Never Been Kissed".

* * *

High school is a jungle.

Lockers like rows upon rows of pale metallic trees on either side of him as he stalks the hallway, linoleum floor laid out like a shiny path just intended for his dominance and reign. It's the hunt; sharpening his senses into whittled points, tuning everything in his body to pick up signs of nerds, Glee club members, simply fucking low lifers that deserve his foot all over them.

Tracking down weaker prey than himself. That's what he's doing.

And Dave knows some people would call him fat-headed for doing exactly that: slow and large and dumb and destined to end up working in a burger joint, grease in his hair and a plastic name tag clipped on his striped shirt after graduation day comes around, simply because he's doing what he is doing...

He's more or less sure that's the type of high thoughts Hummel has of him, if nothing else.

So why prove him wrong?

No, seriously. _Why_ should he?

Hummel may have the art of singing in a falsetto voice and dressing like a flaming homo down to perfection, but he doesn't know Dave. Doesn't know jack fucking _squat_ about him, actually.

For instance, he doesn't know that he sometimes catches himself wondering how it would feel to wrap his hand around that goddamn pale throat during especially mind-numbingly boring classes for some reason. How it would feel to squeeze. Slender flesh and brittle bone shifting within his crushing grip if he wanted to do it. The colour climbing high in those fairy cheeks as his eyes would water. The way his pink lips, slick and like a girl's (would fuckin' bet 10 dollars that the boy probably _did_ apply lip gloss some days when he felt particularly daringly adventurous) posed a dare simply with their dainty shape.

_(Afraid to kiss me, Karofsky?)_

Dave understands being angry. Gets it, down-to-the-bone_ gets it. _The thrill of adrenaline dizzingly coursing through him when he slams into someone faceless on the field, shouts and pain hanging all around him like a chain dragged across gooseflesh.

Once he heard the dry snap of bone in the air after he viciously tackled a guy and the feeling rushing through him afterwards was nothing short of intoxicating.

And sometimes...

Although those times are far and in-between - he wonders how it would feel to be gentle for a change too. Fitting his hands around the slender waist, feeling the muscles under all that smooth porcelain skin, and, fuck, just to bend down and _suck_ at his Adam's apple. No stubble, no pimples, just soft, delicious, baby-downy skin to taste, lick his tongue along. Apply a hint of teeth, just to hear him make a high, vulnerable, bird-like noise.

Yeah. David Karofsky - cannibal, professional eater of boys.

Brings a not necessarily nice grin to his face for a brief second.

His preferences don't veer in that direction when it comes to his choice of erotica, not at all. He's not a _freak_ or anything. Dave's a committed man when it comes to his porn; the blandly mainstream type of it playing on his computer in a window as he strokes his cock with one hand and clicks the xvideo of the day with the other.

Finely muscled guys. And it's not like he hasn't tried going through all the het stuff on the web (which is a lot) - only results in his dick stirring slightly, but never ends in a hard-on. Tries different genres, all he can possibly think of, but it just seems to be a lost cause.

When it's especially dark in his room and the only light comes from his laptop screen, painting his stubbled chin and cheeks in white-blue light as he watches a sculpted dude bend a smaller pale male over a bed and fuck the living daylights out of him, Dave can almost make himself believe this isn't as fucking gay as it can get. Just - that he's watching this out of natural curiousity, nothing wrong with that, that's how people discover new cool things, like bands and movies, because they check unknown things out, right?

It's just difficult to explain away his reaction when he hears the smaller guy moan in obvious pleasure as he gets pounded; the sound shoots straight down to Dave's groin.

Makes a fist around his cock, grips the length of himself without mercy and the spurt of come he pumps out slides down his thick fingers slowly, pearls on the coarse hair that grows heavily near his wrist.

Post-orgasm, he licks his suddenly dry lips. The slight movement of his right big hand makes the white fluid glint wet in the darkness. Semen like he just spat on his digits after brushing his teeth and the idea of licking it _off _himself -

Makes an odd shudder run down his spine. His flaccid dick rests in the curve of his palm, fat pink vein running up the side of it.

Sometimes he wonders whether Kurt could ever... would ever like one that looks like his. To suck it, to - _fuck_ - to sit on, ride it while he screams his pleasure in a high-pitched voice.

Whatever. _Whatever_. He'd be up for - anything, basically.

Or... not.

_Shit!_

He doesn't know. Penis saying one thing and his head another. Story of his goddamn teenage life, right there, in a compact little box.

And thoughts like that are, like, the stupidest thing he could possibly indulge in. He knows that much. Because all it does is just to make it all that more real, means a part of him, miniscule as it might be, actually _does_ exist inside him, in the deepest parts of his guts and it wants this like a dehydrated dog hankers for a bowl of water.

It's about admitting it.

Bringing everything close to the surface to be seen, to be embraced.

Dave's always fucking hated that expression_, bringing things to the surface_, because it only makes him think of being under water; it means that you're _underneath_ it, crushing weight pushing down on you while you choke to death on tons and tons of water, staring up at the blue sky high above as it just continues to fill up your lungs.

Definitely a problem when people see your potential ''mate'' as... prey. Weak and not deserving of life, "too gay to function," and it's all he can do not to grit his teeth in reaction. Not like he wants things to be like this.

Just is.

Still remembers the sick feeling of decisively not _belonging:_ one time in Biology when they'd watched that documentary with animals living on the savanna, because... well, animals were animals were animals were teenagers - and it really was just school all over again, neatly sectioned into two parts.

The hierarchy of creatures. And sex.

Dave had no idea how much worse things were going to get during that class. Camera seemingly having no scruples whatsoever with zooming in on two lions, both young males. And the commentator's calm low voice explaining that in the animal kingdom the alpha male would show his dominance by biting into the scruff of the other lion's neck from time to time and -

Azimio had been loud enough to be heard by every single person in the classroom: "Simba likes takin' it up the ass! That's some faggot shit right there!"

A few shrill laughs and high-fives shared after that and Dave still hadn't been able to take his eyes off the TV screen.

Just the flex of muscles moving under golden fur, the rough hard rut of it, sand getting whipped up in the stale air; the shimmering heat, sun beating down unforgivingly on them and it was only gradually Dave became aware that he was in fact growing steadily rock hard under his desk. It had only been with the fixed image of his grandma's prostethic teeth floating in a tall glass water in his mind he'd managed to... 'calm' himself down again, avoiding any catastrophe which would have resulted in him being thrown all the way to the bottom of the social ladder. Under those goddamn Glee nerds of all people.

And always that word - pride - while he watched.

Pride, pride,_ pride. _Fuckin' hell.

Not like it's a goddamn problem for a lion; it just needs to be a part of one.

It's even worse watching Kurt striding down the halls, wearing his obvious otherness for everyone to look at like it's an accomplishment.

It's worse because all he really is is a goddamn pale skinny boy and not some kind of animal out in a wood where he can hide in trees or behind bushes if it were the given situation they were in.

It's worse because Dave knows nothing is _ever_ going to be easy. Not for him and absolutely, definitely not for Kurt. The guy sticks out like a fucking sore thumb, for crying out loud.

There's self-esteem and then there's walking around with a bullseye painted on one's back and -

Well.

Isn't that what it all comes back to? Down to?

Some things can't be ignored, even if you'd prefer to turn a blind eye on them.

Yet another day, yet another walk between classes.

Dave slams the thin, well-dressed body in front of him into the row of lockers to his right with a vengeance.

Feels eyes lock onto him as he moves away from there, a heavy sensation roiling in his stomach when he brushes past two other Glee club members, the black girl and the Asian girl, staring openly at him like _he's _the freak.

Kill or be killed,_ chicas._

It's all about surviving here.

end.


End file.
